


Lessons from the Deluded

by jannah (fromjannah)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, I Believe In Eret Supremacy, Redeemed Eret, Resurrected Wilbur Soot, They/Them Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF), a bit rambly but i liked it, not actually RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29639631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromjannah/pseuds/jannah
Summary: Eret encounters a newly resurrected Wilbur by the crater that was once L'manberg. They talk about a ghost, a son, and a country that was perhaps meant to be.
Relationships: Cara | Captain Puffy & Eret, Eret & Floris | Fundy, Eret & Wilbur Soot, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	Lessons from the Deluded

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing an actually funny and interesting fic when this idea struck me in the middle of the night, so I caved and wrote this. I have a soft spot in my heart for Eret (the character and the content creator) and I find that there is not enough content with them and Wilbur, so I wrote some myself! Also I've been missing playing around with structure and word choice so this was a bit of an outlet for that. 
> 
> Title comes from "Factories" by Autoheart. 
> 
> This is about the SMP characters, not the CCs. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Eret goes to the crater where L'manberg once was a lot. There's something both terrifying and humanizing about looking into such a _wound_ , a black hole made of earth. It is oddly calming to sit on the edge, gaze into its depths, feel small and significant and remember that there is an entire world that doesn't include you. Puffy would gently scold them, tell them that they're worthy.

It's a bit of a punishment as well, but Eret doesn't tell Puffy that. They barely admit it to themself. They need the therapy for a reason.

They're often alone and they assumed today -- dismal, gray, sky filled to its brim with looming cumulus clouds that would surely be turning nimbus -- would be no different. They're wrong.

A sliver of an entirely whole man sits on the lip of the yawning mouth; ivory skin, bony hands, brown hair in his face, dark umber-ash eyes transfixed on something Eret cannot see. 

The phrase _it was like they had seen a ghost_ , would've been appropriate, but the problem here is that this man is not a ghost.

Eret is a tall person, though not particularly intimidating in stature -- certainly not in this server with a disproportionate concentration of tall people. But they have a fairly distinct presence; the crown, sunglasses, golden embroidery upon the flowing king's cape all contribute to that, along with the reputation that obviously preceded them. They're not a blood god and they're not an angel of death, but they're a traitor king who makes amends, and that's often enough. 

_Is it wrong for me to stay as a king, Puffy? I don't -- it's secure. It's safe, now, and it lets me live, lets me_ be someone _. Is it wrong to want that?_

But Eret had come out expecting to not meet anyone; they did not have their cape on nor their crown. Staring at the resurrected man, Eret's sunglasses feel suddenly like a flimsy facade, a weak shield that could be snapped the second it's hit. 

In that moment, Eret is not a king. Eret is small. Eret is a lowly traitor, staring at the man they had betrayed. 

_L'manberg got destroyed and people have told me -- they tell me, 'Eret, you were right, it_ was _never meant to be'. And I don't -- how am I supposed to say that maybe it was, maybe it was meant to be? Maybe I was wrong, and I_ tried, _Puffy, I really did try to say, I don't know,_ up _with the damn revolution back when Schlatt was here, let there be a special place -- where men can go -- Christ, I'm such a hypocrite. I don't know. Let's move on, please._

Wilbur does not acknowledge them as they slowly lower themself onto the ledge, long legs swinging. 

Drizzling rain has begun. Wilbur flinches, nearly imperceptible, as a bead of water hits the side of his face.

"Wilbur," says Eret finally, their low voice nearly inaudible. 

Wilbur exhales. "Hello, Eret," he acknowledges and _oh god that's actually Wilbur that's definitely not Ghostbur oh god._ He sounds so tired, worn out.

Eret adjusts their sunglasses habitually. The dark lenses have misted over with water and they can barely see in the limited sunlight. Slowly, hands shaking, they take the glasses off, eyes immediately protesting in a sharp wave of pain that takes a moment to ebb away. So rare it is that they see the world without a filter.

Wilbur's own eyes -- they look darker, Eret thinks, like the blank pupil is exploding into the fractured iris, L'manberg's doomsday replayed over and over in miniature -- dart over briefly and he takes this development meditatively and without comment. Something about this non-response is just as soothing as the wreckage beneath the two of them. 

Eret looks down into the crater, the bedrock easier to bear than the anomaly next to them. Rainwater slides off their angled-down nose, onto their mouth. "How long have you been... back?" they ask because surely it could not have been long, surely Eret would've heard the news from Niki or Tubbo or someone, and yes, they haven't seen the ghost in ages but surely -- 

"Nearly two weeks," Wilbur says and the shock on Eret's face must be evident because he adds in means of explanation, "I've been up north, mostly."

"Oh," says Eret, because what is there to say? "I see." 

It seems impolite to ask _how the hell are you back, Wilbur Soot, the resurrection that I worked weeks on didn't work but you're still back apparently and I'm not bitter, Puffy, I just wanted something to work out for once, I keep trying to atone and it never seems to work out, is this my punishment, Puffy, will I never pay penance?,_ so they don't. 

Just their luck that Wilbur says, "You tried to resurrect me"; a faint accusation with an undertone of curiosity. 

"I did," Eret says, leaning into the cautiousness that they had learned from being a traitor, a king in wartime, a figurehead ruler who wanted to keep their head. _You shouldn't be ashamed, Eret, you've done so much good in your time -- isn't that worth thinking about, too?_ They add, just for Puffy, "Your ghost asked for it. I was respecting his wishes."

Disdain curls Wilbur's lip at the mention of his ghost and a conflicted emotion rolls over his face, a shadow of the fierce anger that had ignited him in his previous life. To Eret, seeing this feels somewhat like a reprieve. If the ghost had been a shell, this version of Wilbur was the entire soul shattered into pieces, hastily shoved back together. Seeing emotion made him seem less broken. 

"Respecting his wishes," repeats Wilbur, wringing out some water from the brim of the sweater he is wearing -- well-fitted and clean, not like his ghost's ubiquitous oversized and bloodied one.

Eret runs a hand through their damp hair. "He didn't seem to like me much for a while," they admit, a bit numb and _okay, Puffy, maybe I'm a little bitter, happy_? Apparently the ghost had blocked out all these bad memories but still remembered the final control room, still remembered the one mistake that had fulfilled Eret's life and damned it all the same. "But when he asked... I had resources. I thought it was worth a shot."

"So you wanted me back?" Wilbur asks with evident disbelief. Absently, Eret realizes that he must not have his ghost's memories, at least not in full. It's nearly ironic.

Eret opens their mouth, closes it. They hadn't _not_ wanted Wilbur back -- it wasn't like he could be bitter over the man blowing up a country he had apparently fought for. But it was different. How are they supposed to explain their constant war with karma, their endless journey for forgiveness? But there is, also, of course --

"For Fundy," they explain, a bit lamely. "I... I tried my best, I do try, but... I'm not his father."

Wilbur's expression crumples at this, a delicate house of cards toppling all at once. Suddenly, Eret is aware that they are not the only one sitting here constantly at war with their past mistakes.

"I haven't seen Fundy at all," murmurs Wilbur, pained, gazing up into the empty, white sky. The showers have let up. Eret could put their sunglasses back on. They don't.

"He's been spending time on a different server," Eret explains, gratified to finally have an answer. "Er -- Cogchamp, it's called, Tubbo went with him for a while. He seems to be enjoying it."

"Oh," says Wilbur, processing that, blinking a few times. "He... _oh_."

_I care for Fundy a lot, Puffy, I do, but... I'm happy that he's left. Happy for him? I think he needs it -- he grew up in this hell of a server. I think he needs to see that there are better things, better worlds, not everywhere is as... wrong as here. He's not trapped here and he's taking advantage of the peace and I'm happy about that. Is that wrong, Puffy?_

The showers have let up but a drop of water falls down Wilbur's face, down from his empty, exploding eyes. "I don't blame him," he says, hiccuping slightly. "I really can't."

_It's not wrong, Eret. In fact, that just proves that you care for him._

"He'll be back," Eret says, a promise they aren't remotely qualified to make. "This is his home."

Wilbur looks to the crater. A breeze kicks up his matted, mussed hair. "It was. It was all his." 

The two look upon the place that they had both built and destroyed. These ruins of the third iteration of L'manberg weren't even theirs.

Eret swears that they can still smell the sharp tinge of TNT, the briefest flash of burning flesh before respawn. 

"I'm sorry," they say, because what is there to say?

_I've apologized a hundred, thousand times, Puffy, when will it be enough?_

_I don't know, Eret. But the fact that you're willing to apologize over and over again shows growth, incredible growth._

Wilbur looks at them then. This, Eret realizes, must be the first time since the final control room that Wilbur has truly looked at them -- properly, as an equal, right in the eyes -- the endless depths of darkness reaching outwards meeting the the blinding radiation of light that is always contained. 

"I can't blame you, either," Wilbur says in a rasp. "I suppose you were the one who realized it all first."

_... how am I supposed to say that maybe it was, maybe it was meant to be?_

"No," disagrees Eret slowly. "I do think it was meant to be. Maybe not exactly like this. But everywhere needs revolution every now and then." They laugh despite themself. " _You_ realized that first."

The sun peeks out from the blank slate of clouds, illuminating the curve of Wilbur's wry half-smile. "Revolution," he echoes, almost wistful. "Maybe you're right."

The two sit there in silence as the clouds clear away. Sometime in the period, Eret stops looking down into the ruins and up into the bright cerulean sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Drop me a kudo or comment if you're feeling especially nice, they make my day.


End file.
